


The Consort in the North

by afewreelthoughts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: AU - homosexuality accepted, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Oral Sex, at least more than in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: In which a match is proposed between Crown Prince Renly and the King in the North.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for Renly Week: Day 4 - Canon Divergence
> 
> I own nothing and make no money from this. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.

Stannis didn’t like a single member of his small council, but he hated Varys more than all the rest combined. The man simpered, he smiled too much, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. It was hard to tell what most people were thinking, but usually watching how Davos, Renly, or Mel responded to them offered Stannis some clue. The Spider was a mystery to all of them. And Stannis did not want the man crowding his office on this particular afternoon.

“What do you want, Varys?” he said, refusing to look up from the papers he pretended to read, “I’m very busy.”

“I don’t mean to disturb Your Grace.”

“Then don’t disturb me.”

Varys sighed and for a second Stannis thought he might actually listen.

He didn’t. “I know the Northmen have been especially bothersome. I can’t imagine what else might be worrying you?”

Stannis closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly, like Davos had told him to do when he was too worried or too angry to think clearly. He knew he should be thinking of the Northmen, that they were the only serious issue he was facing, but all he could think about was Renly.

And then Varys smiled as though he could read his mind, and Stannis wanted to slap it off of his face.

“I have no time for you, and you know why,” he said.

“Is your brother still on your mind?”

“Yes,” Stannis said, despite himself. "I need to solve our treaty with the North _and_ find out what to do with Renly, so I don’t have much time for you.” Stannis stared at the Spider, hoping he could move him through sheer force of will.

Varys merely indicated the chair opposite his desk and sat down when Stannis said nothing. “When I have two problems, I do what I can to see one as the solution to the other," he said and smiled again.

"What could be the possible solution to my little brother sleeping with my kingsguard?"

"As far as we know, it’s just the one member of the kingsguard,” Varys said, smirking. "Robert sowed his seed in every available whore, and people loved him."

They had been obliged to keep Varys, when they took King’s Landing. No one else who could do the job like he could, though exactly what job he did, no one could tell.

“This is different,” Stannis said. "You know it is. A hundred years ago, both Renly and Ser Loras would be unable to show their faces in public after what they did…” Stannis felt his anger and shame boiling up again.

Ser Balon Swann had found them when he'd opened the armory door and they had collapsed in a half-dressed heap. Perhaps they could have kept their secret if Balon had been alone. He was not.

Stannis cleared his throat. “If Ser Loras wasn’t a knight of the kingsguard, fine, they could be married, but…” His anger in a moment turned from Varys onto his brother. “He had to make trouble for me, didn’t he?”

He had called Renly in to his study as soon as he heard.

"I hope you know how much shame you’ve caused me,” he’d said and watched the way his brother’s face had fallen. He didn’t need to be able to read minds to tell what Renly was thinking.

“We didn’t mean to get caught,” Renly said.

“Yes, because it was Balon Swann's fault for opening the armory door, not yours for fucking against it!”

Stannis clenched his fists and ground his teeth. This was the worst thing about Varys, how he could convince you to pour out everything you were thinking. Stannis felt exposed, and he hated it. 

The Spider pursed his pink lips. “The Northerners asked you to marry Shireen to King Robb, did they not?"

“Over my dead body! Under no circumstances will I consider that… that _insult_! Shireen is a child, and I won’t just hand her over to some Northern boy who - "

“No, no, no,” Varys’s voice was soothing, and he motioned with his hands as if to calm Stannis, who would have been offended if he were not so in need of being calmed.

“The North is asking for a match with someone worthy of their king. Correct?"

“And?"

“You’re worried about the North acting against the best interests of the crown?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Stop changing the subject.”

“So you want someone there who can keep an eye on things?”

“Yes, and they refuse to have even an ambassador watching over their court on our behalf. You were there in negotiations. You saw Jon Umber threaten to cut off… parts of me.”

“Do you not see the sum total of all this?”

Stannis’s eyes burned with exhaustion. He was tired, so tired, and did not want to appear weak in front of this awful man… again. “ _What?_ What is it that I’m not seeing.”

Varys smiled again. "Offer the North your brother.”

Stannis blinked. “What?”

“The Northmen want a match worthy of a king. Well what is better than a king’s heir? And Renly can keep an eye on the politics in the North far better than Shireen ever could.”

Stannis cleared his throat. “I… I don’t believe men get married in the North.” And before Varys could open his mouth, he finished, “ _to each other."_

“But they do here in the South.”

“Wouldn't they see it as an insult? Especially if Renly has a _reputation_."

"Well he doesn’t up North, does he? He is a handsome man, your brother, and charming as well."

"Do _you_ want to marry him?”

Perhaps a little bird told me that during negotiations, Robb Stark couldn’t take his eyes off of him."

Stannis rolled his eyes.

"Or perhaps no one had to tell me because I could see it for myself.”

“I thought you were helping me negotiate a peace, and you were watching who was leering at whom."

"I wouldn’t call it leering, more like… innocent longing, when the Stark boy thought I wasn’t watching." Varys shrugged. “And perhaps another little bird told me that the Stark boy used to share a bed with Theon Greyjoy. He may not be as averse to the match as you believe. And in the wake of a royal wedding, the scandal with Ser Loras would be easily forgotten.”

"What about an heir?"

"You have Shireen."

"The North. My brother can’t give King Robb children."

"Ned and Catelyn left behind an entire brood of princes and princesses. The North will have an heir whether or not Robb Stark sires one.”

Stannis stared down at the papers in front of him. Notifications of taxes paid in Dorne and the Riverlands. There was so much to be done, he felt himself beginning to bend beneath the weight of it. This would give him so much peace of mind. It would obliterate the scandal. It would mean an end to every lord and lady in King’s Landing throwing their children at Renly. It would give his little brother a better purpose than arguing with him in council for no good reason. And it might keep the North happy for a good, long while.

“Fetch my brother, Lord Varys. And Ser Loras. And a raven to be sent to Winterfell.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowds lined the road to Riverrun as far as the eye could see, and the castle courtyard was full to bursting with people who had come from far and wide for a glimpse of Lord Renly on his way North. 

“Are you nervous?” Arya asked Robb, looking up at him from where she fidgeted in her new dress. “You look nervous."

“I just don’t like everyone looking at me,” he said. The crowd inside the walls of Riverrun, gathered on the steps and across the ramparts, growing restless at having waited for hours with no sign of the royal entourage, had contented themselves with staring at him instead. Robb didn’t know how much longer he could stand straight and tall under their scrutiny. His mother had asked to lock Grey Wind away in the godswood, for fear of how he might react to the arrival of dozens of strangers. Robb missed him. Whenever his wolf was nearby, everything felt more bearable.

“You don’t have to wait outside,” Arya said. “You’re the king. They’ll let you know when he gets here.”

Robb’s mouth felt dry. _But I want to._

Arya pulled at her sleeve. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Is it about going to the Wall to see Jon?” he said. It was all she had spoken about since he came to Riverrun. Arya had grown up these past years that they had been apart, so much so that she sounded not at all like a little girl begging to have her way, but instead like an adult with a simple request.

"What did Mother say?" 

She shrugged. 

"She’s our mother, Arya."

"And you’re the king."

"We’re going to Winterfell after the wedding. We can talk then,” he said. 

Sweat began to dampen his curls. Perhaps Arya was right, and he should go just inside...

But if he saw Renly on the road and felt something, anything at all, perhaps he could know that this would be more than a political match. Perhaps if he felt something, they would have a chance of being happy.

After King Stannis had had Walder Frey beheaded, Robb’s contract with the their house had effectively ended, but his relief had lasted only as long as it took for him to remember that he still had to marry someone, and he had to choose wisely. 

“Could I pick someone I like?” he had asked his mother, when it was just the two of them sitting in her chambers in Winterfell. “Some girl…” he swallowed “Or some boy?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Men do marry each other in the South,” he said. 

“Further south than Winterfell,” she said. 

“What I’m trying to ask is… could I just marry someone I liked,” he said, “before we end up promising my hand in marriage to make another alliance?”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“No,” he said. _Theon,_ he wanted to say, _I want my oldest friend by my side,_ but after what Theon had done, Robb could imagine how that might go over. And he didn’t want Theon now. He wanted the Theon had had known as a boy, the one he could trust.

"You’re the king,” Lady Catelyn said. “You may do what you like.” 

There had been no bitterness in her tone, no unkindness, but he heard the words beneath her words: that this was his choice, but that if he wanted to be a good king, he had to make it for more than just himself. He had a duty to his people, and choosing the person with whom he shared his bed was a part of that.

Nothing in his life would ever be simple again.

“Will you be taking his cloak?” Sansa asked, quietly. She always spoke quietly these days.

“Is that important?” Arya said.

“Well…” Sansa’s shoulders curled forward slightly, too small a gesture for the crowd to notice, but Robb did. 

“Please tell us,” he said. 

“Well,” she continued, still quiet, “in the south, most marriages between two men or two women are to, um, to join two families as equals, and so they take each other’s cloaks. There’s no one who is the maid unless they are both maids." 

It was a good question. For all the minutiae in the drafts of the treaty sent from Winterfell to King’s Landing and back again, and in all the discussions about the wedding, Robb could not say. There had been talk about what exactly Lord Renly’s title would be after the marriage - and it seemed to Robb it took far too long to decide on “King Consort” - There had been talk about where the wedding would be held – Riverrun because it was halfway between King’s Landing and Winterfell - and whose gods would preside over it – the Old Gods because Renly would be joining House Stark. There had been so much talk about who should and should not be invited, Robb thought he would die of boredom. But no final word about whether one cloak would be exchanged or two. 

Robb’s men had their own ideas about it and had told him how “the southron princeling should _bend the knee_ ," "he'll play the bride for you, won't he?"and things even filthier. It embarrassed Robb to hear his men speak that way. Marriages between men in the North were uncommon, but not unheard of, and he secretly wished those men would say the exact same things right in front of Whoresbane Umber and have to deal with the consequences.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a good question. We’ll have to ask when they arrive.” 

Sansa nodded, but she still stood at some distance from Robb, Arya between them, standing close by her side.

His sisters clustered close to each other most days, often whispering so low no one else could hear. Mother seemed so grateful to have them both back that she did not want to interrupt their quiet conferences or demand too many answers from either of them. Robb only hoped that they would soon begin to trust him as much as they trusted each other.

A roar arose in the distance and Robb saw a cloud of dust on the horizon, tiny golden banners flying above it.

They were coming.

His palms felt damp and he didn’t want to wait any longer. He wanted to leap across the moat, run up the road, and meet his betrothed far away from the watching eyes of everyone in the courtyard.

Robb and Renly had met once before, while negotiating the end of the war. Renly had been charming and clever and not unkind. For a moment he had looked at Robb like he could see past all of his bravado to the scared boy he was trying to hide, and a shiver had run up Robb's spine, almost disarming him, but Robb didn’t know if he even liked him.

What if he was awful? What if beneath the looks and charm, he was a monster? What if he was here to spy on the North for his brother? And weren’t there rumors about him and a young knight before their engagement? What if he brought his lover with him? What if, like King Robert before him, he could not stay loyal to one bed? 

Or what if…

what if…

What if he was perfect and Robb would never be worthy of him?

As the royal party slowly approached, Mother smoothed out Sansa and Arya’s dresses and lined them up neatly, Arya on the far left, then Sansa, then her, and finally Robb. Just like she had when King Robert visited Winterfell years before. There were twice as many Starks gathered that day, and Robb feels their absence here like physical thing… Father, Jon, Bran, Rickon… 

One rider came before the rest of the party and halted his horse at the edge of the river. The man was far enough in the distance that Robb could not see his expression clearly, but he thought that he frowned before he called out, “May we cross the river, Your Grace?”

Robb nodded to the Tully men stationed in rowboats at the foot of the stairs. They pushed off and began to glide across the water and through the open porticullis.

The man returned on the rowboat alone, and bowed when he stepped off. “Your Grace.”

“Welcome to Riverrun,” Robb said. “Ser…” 

“Ser Emmoy Cuy,” the man said, “leader of Lord Renly’s personal guard.” 

“Is he coming soon?” Mother asked.

“He’s greeting the people, Your Highness.”

“All of them?”

Ser Emmon sighed. “More than he should. It’s my job to keep him safe, but he doesn’t like doing what he’s told. It’s been a nightmare.”

Sansa smiled. “I had the chance to meet Lord Renly when I traveled to King’s Landing,” she said, as though that trip – how many years ago? – had been a happy occasion and King’s Landing had not become her prison.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again, my lady,” Ser Emmon said.

Robb smiled too. “He will be out of your hands very soon.” 

Ser Emmon frowned. “I’m traveling North with him as long as he needs me.”

Robb and his mother exchanged a quick glance. “And how many men will be joining you?”

“Why does it matter?” 

“What does he need a personal guard for?” Arya said. “He’ll be safe with us.” She did not notice their mother’s sharp eyes telling her to stop. 

“My lady,” Ser Emmon said, “I am sure you think that, but Winterfell has fallen once before, and it could again.”

The cheering of the crowd grew louder, as more men arrived in rowboats. 

“They won’t all be crossing the river, Your Grace,” Ser Emmon said, “King Stannis hired most of them to see his brother safely to his wedding, and they will be returning to the king’s service as soon as they can.”

“King Stannis is not here?” Robb asked, disappointed at how relieved he felt, but he didn't have time to ask any further questions.

The people standing on the ramparts and on the other side of the river shifted as one of the boats emerged into view.

It was difficult to look at Renly Baratheon. All the gold on his cloak and his armor, hit by the sun and its reflection from the water, made him look slightly dazzling. Robb squinted down at him.

When Renly reached the top of the stairs, he was grinning ear-to-ear. Robb recognized him well enough, but the version of him Robb remembered was neither so exuberant, nor quite as shiny. He was tall, so tall that he looked down on Robb, and his clothes made him look larger than he was, tawny trousers and doublet embroidered in silver, gold, and black, a heavy cloth-of-gold cloak that draped over his intricately wrought breastplate, and a helm crowned in branches, or perhaps antlers, that held he tucked beneath one arm. His blue eyes danced as they met Robb's. 

He didn’t bow.

“It is good to see you again, Your Grace,” Renly said. He looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat.

“It is good to see you as well,” said Robb, “I’m glad you arrived safely.” 

Renly grinned again and tapped his breastplate. “They wouldn’t let me travel without it: I’m too much of a target.” 

_Yes, dressed like that, you are._

“Is your brother not with you?” Robb asked. 

King Stannis strong, regal, and frowning, always made Robb feel like less of a man, like he was the furthest thing from a king himself. But somehow it seemed wrong that, if this marriage was going to secure the peace, that the king on the iron throne would not be here to see it. 

“No, no he’s not.” Renly tilted his head. “I’ll let him know how much he is missed,” he said and turned to greet Robb’s mother and sisters. “I’m glad to see you’re all well!” 

“And we’re glad to be getting another brother,” Sansa said.

Arya looked at the ground until Sansa nudged her, and then she looked up and smiled again.

 _Another brother_. Robb hated the sound of it, like he was replacing those who had gone before.

He gestured towards the open doors of the castle. “You’ve had a long journey, and I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer.”

“You’re generous,” he said, and before he followed Robb and his family inside, he stopped one more time to wave at the gathered crowd. They cheered even louder.

*--*--*--*

The sun was setting by the time they sat in the godswood on one of the long wooden benches surrounding the weirwood at the center, ready for tomorrow's ceremony. 

“It’s beautiful,” Renly said, looking up at the heart tree. "It's been a long time since I've seen one." 

Robb had asked his mother and sisters to give them some time alone, but as soon as they had, he had no idea what to say. He felt nervous and had no idea what that meant. Perhaps he simply felt awed by the presence of the king’s brother.

 _You’re a king, too,_ he told himself.

“Do you wish we were getting married in a sept instead?” he asked.

Renly sighed. “I’ve never been very religious, and besides,” he said, “I’m joining House Stark, aren’t I?” His eyes looked almost green in this light. He was, Robb had to admit, quite handsome.

They sat close to each other, just far enough apart that their legs did not brush. Would it be appropriate to touch his shoulder? To take his hand? 

“I hope you’ll have enough time to rest before the wedding,” Robb said, because he had to say something.

“I’m sure I will.”

“Did your brother give you a reason for not wanting to come?”

“I’m not a maid to be given away, and the king has more important responsibilities,” he said with a smile. He seemed quieter now, not just his voice but everything about him, as though he expanded, like water or air, to fill whatever space he was in, but no more. 

“Your guard said the same thing, I just had a hard time believing him,” Robb said. “I would never miss either of my sisters’ weddings.”

“Ser Emmon is a good man, but perhaps not a tactful one,” Renly said, and Robb wondered what that had to do with anything. “Stannis simply could not be away from King’s Landing for so long. So many important duties to attend to.” 

Robb nodded, but he still did not understand.

“Is there anything I should know about getting married in front of the Old Gods?” Renly asked, a glint in his eyes. “Any magic words?”

Robb shook his head. “Just speaking vows before the weirwood. ‘With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.’ And then the bride accepts the groom’s cloak, and he carries her to the wedding feast.”

“And it’s important to be in front of the tree because…” 

“Because that way the gods are watching,” Robb said. It made perfect sense to him, it always had. If Renly had any objections, he kept them to himself. “Will I be taking your cloak tomorrow?” Robb asked. 

“This cloak?” Renly picked at the heavy golden thing draping over the bench. “Would you like to?”

“I…” Robb cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s a matter of what I want.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would be happy to accept it, and I’ve heard that in marriages between two men in the south they usually both exchange cloaks, but… but the tone of…” Robb couldn’t look at him, and it had nothing to do with what he looked like. He couldn’t face it if any disappointment or shame crossed his betrothed's face. “This ceremony is about welcoming you into House Stark, and I don’t think my bannermen would… What I mean is – ”

“I understand.”

“You do?” 

Robb looked up at Renly and warmth filled him all of a sudden. It was neither nerves nor embarrassment. 

Renly lifted an eyebrow. “So I don’t imagine I should carry you down the aisle, either?”

“No,” Robb said, and now he felt that he was blushing. 

“You could carry me if you like?” 

“No, I think we’ll be fine skipping that part,” Robb said, aware again of how big this man was, and thinking about what would happen after the ceremony tomorrow: a day of feasting and a bedding to follow.

He thought of Theon, he could not help it. They hadn’t been in love, but a good friendship was something close, wasn’t it? 

_Friends help each other out, once in a while. Men in the south even get married so they can do this all their lives._

_I’m sure that’s not the only reason anyone gets married, Theon._

_Well it should be._

If he had loved Theon as more than a friend, then perhaps none of this would have happened.

A gentle hand lay on his shoulder. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

“Just some unwelcome thoughts, that’s all.”

“Thoughts of marrying me?”

“No,” Robb said.

“Then I should be getting to sleep, Your Grace. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Robb said, as he rose, picked up his glittering cloak and began to walk away, “and you should call me Robb.”

He flashed a grin over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Robb.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a proper northern wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was finished in a rush after the latest episode of Game of Thrones reminded me what I love (and miss) about the books. So this turned out a little love letter to book canon, complete with food porn and porn porn. Enjoy.
> 
> If you want to skim/skip any smut, read until “Only if that’s what you want.” There's no more plot after that.

The godswood looked very little like a godswood.

Garlands of flowers and autumn leaves hung from one window to the next, along with yards of bright fabric. The nobility of Westeros, dressed in their finest, filled long wooden benches facing the heart tree. The Northern lords who chose to attend were seated directly before where the ceremony would take place. Why had they needed to provide places for them all to sit? It wasn’t as though Northern marriage ceremonies lasted long. 

The sun beat down on Robb’s fur cloak. It was too hot for furs.

This was nothing like the wedding Robb had wanted. He had never given it much thought, but he always expected that he would be wed in the godswood at Winterfell, surrounded by friends and family, a soft blanket of snow falling around a proper weirwood. And of course, a bride (or groom) he already knew.

The musicians began to play, and the crowd stood and turned to where Prince Renly walked towards the heart tree. Beneath his black and gold cloak, he was clad in pure white. 

The godswood was too crowded for Robb to feel the presence of the family that still remained to him, and he began to worry that he’d get the words wrong.

Robb made sure to speak loudly enough that everyone there could hear. “Who comes? Who comes before the gods?” 

“Renly of House Baratheon comes here to be wed. Lord of Storm’s End, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Crown Prince of the Realm, and heir to the Iron Throne, trueborn and noble, he comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim him?”

“Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North. I claim him. Who gives him?” 

One corner of Renly’s mouth tilted up. “I give myself.” 

Robb reminded himself for the hundredth time of the new words they had drafted together. He held out his hand. “Will you take me?” 

“I will take you.” 

Renly took his outstretched hand, and they knelt before the heart tree. They both bowed their heads, but since Robb wore his crown, so there was only so far that he could bend. Renly’s hands were warm in his, and dry, his heartbeat slow and steady, his breath soft on Robb’s cheek. Robb tried not to think about how fast his own heart was beating, whether his breaths came calm and even, or if his new husband could notice any of that. Instead he closed his eyes and asked the gods to make them a good match for each other, that they might be blessed with a marriage even half as strong as the one his parents had.

After a long moment Robb stood, but Renly remained on his knees. Did he not know that they were meant to rise? Or that the ceremony was nearly over?

His head still bowed, Renly let go of Robb’s hands and unclasped his black and gold cloak, draping it over the roots of the heart tree. Robb unfastened his own cloak and draped his across his new husband’s shoulders. He did not hear the crowd murmuring, but he felt it, a visceral, physical thing running through the air. 

_They like seeing him on his knees_.

Dressed all in shining white and grey, Renly was now clad purely in Stark colors. No doubt that was intentional. Robb wondered if this ceremony looked romantic to any of the people watching. Everything had been planned, a display of House Baratheon submitting to the North, compromising enough of their pride for this match, and the treaty that went with it, to sit easy with Robb’s bannermen and end the war. It was King Stannis they all wanted to see on his knees, King Stannis who had offered his brother to come here and kneel in his place, and yet King Stannis was not even there. 

The musicians picked up again, a livelier melody, as Robb took his husband’s arm, raised him up, and they walked together out of the godswood to the cheers of the crowd. The lords and ladies followed at a respectful distance and burst forth when two squires threw open the doors to the Great Hall. 

When they reached the high table at Riverrun, Robb’s mother embraced him.

“How are you?” she asked. 

“I don’t feel married,” he whispered, quietly enough that he hoped no one would hear.

“It’s just a few words,” his mother said. “I doubt anyone feels married the very moment their wedding is through.”

 _Did you?_ he wanted to ask. But he didn’t. 

His sisters joined them at the high table, sitting on his mother’s right side, the rest of the seats filled with representatives of the great houses: Renly was seated next to Robb’s own uncle Edmure, who was next to Lord Yohn Royce (representing the Vale, since the Arryns did not attend), next to Wyman Manderly, next to Prince Oberyn Martell. On his mother’s other side sat her uncle the Blackfish, Ser Garlan Tyrell, Rickard Karstark, and the Greatjon Umber. In front of the high table, curled up and looking down at the lords and ladies below, lay Grey Wind. A weight lifted from Robb’s shoulders at the sight of him. 

The rest of Robb’s bannermen were clustered in seats close to the high table. Robb wondered if he’d chosen the right people to honor. He felt no responsibility for the feelings of the southron lords, but he knew how prickly his own could be. It helped that Renly had brought no family himself, because until the day before, both the Manderlys and the Umbers expected that they would have a place at the high table, and neither would have been happy to be crowded in as an obvious afterthought.

The hall was already booming with talk and laughter by the time Robb sat down next to his new husband.

“We’re all wondering why your brother isn’t here, Your Majesty,” Yohn Royce said as the servants carried out the food. Robb’s mouth watered at the smell, and his hunger came rushing back to him.

“Yes, why would the king miss his own brother’s wedding?” Oberyn Martell called from his side of the table.

“Stannis has many duties to worry about,” Renly said. “The problems of the realm don’t halt when he wills them to.” He smiled at the servant bringing out their soup. “But don’t tell him I told you that.”

The soup was heavy with barley, herbs, and vegetables, perhaps too hearty for the warm day, but it reminded Robb of home, and he thought it would do the same for the Northmen there. It arrived along with loaves of bread both brown and white that crackled when he broke them in his hands. 

There followed a salad of walnuts, raisins, pears, and greens, and after, four varieties of baked fish.

Renly joined in the conversation surrounding them with ease, he addressed every minor lord or lady who approached the high table to offer their good wishes, made more than half of them laugh, all while eating more politely than half the men at the high table. Robb felt relieved. Perhaps his new husband could keep the northern lords happy in a way that Robb himself could not. His people loved him, but he’d never been much of a diplomat.

“The food is delicious, thank you,” Renly said.

“It’s the Tullys you should thank,” Robb said. “My mother took over everything after your brother was satisfied with our plans.”

“Not too much fish, I hope?” Catelyn asked.

“Not at all. It reminds me of the meals I grew up on at Storm’s End.” 

Robb wanted to say something to him. They were married, they should be talking, shouldn’t they? But the sound of Sansa’s laughter drew his gaze – she was smiling at something Ser Garlan Tyrell had said – and when he looked back, Renly was talking with Lord Yohn Royce again.

“Your son has done me good service and been a friend to me as well.”

“I’m honored that you appointed him to your personal guard,” Lord Royce said, “though I will miss him when he goes North.”

“Don’t you have another son in the Night’s Watch? Perhaps we can visit the Wall and see him?” 

Lord Royce chuckled. “Waymar and Robar were never very close, but I think they’d like to see each other again.” He speared a piece of beef with his fork. “How does your brother fare in King’s Landing?” 

“Dour. He’d hate something this festive.”

“What is it that keeps him in King’s Landing? Is there some business more important than his brother’s wedding?” 

“All business is important to Stannis, even this marriage. But as I’m no maid to be given away, he didn’t need to make the long journey.” 

Renly unfastened his cloak, and let it drape over the back of his chair. His clothes beneath were, indeed, all pure white, beaded embroidery at the collar and cuffs, but he looked nothing like a bride. Perhaps it was the ease with which he held himself, relaxing in his seat, chin high, shoulders square.

The main course arrived, great roasts of beef, baked with vegetables, rosemary and thyme. Robb remembered the conversation his mother had had with the cooks about why, no, it would be in poor taste to serve boar.

“Is all the food this good in the North?” Renly asked. 

“It’s rarely this rich. Hearty, simple, comforting.” _I hope you like it there._

When Jon Umber pounded his fist on the table, Robb’s fork and knife clattered against his plate, and when he stood, the furniture itself shifted. “I have something to say!”

Every face at the high table turned towards him, and the hall grew quieter.

“I’m here to make the first toast to King Robb on his wedding night! I remember when you first called my men to Winterfell, and your creature bit off my fingers…” He held up his hand, and Grey Wind lifted his nose and howled. 

Renly’s eyes went wide, the hand grasping his goblet white-knuckled.

“After following you into battle, I swore we’d never again be ruled by a flowery southron lord, nor by anyone who didn’t know the North _like we know the North_.” 

Half of the crowd cheered. 

“Every Northman in this hall hoped that his daughter – or his son – would be sitting beside you tonight.” He cleared his throat. “But war makes enemies into bedfellows, and our king has a flowery southron consort.” He lifted his goblet. “To Prince Consort Renly! May he be strong enough to handle a real Northern winter and a real Northern man!” 

A cheer went up from the entire hall. When it died down, Renly raised his glass. “Thank you for the kind wishes, Lord Umber. I must confess that I am worried about the _winter_. I have no experience with _that_.”

The Greatjon burst into laughter and slapped the table, shaking it again. Robb swallowed his wine too quickly, and coughed.

Renly held his head a little higher, and smiled into his goblet as he drank.

Wyman Manderly stood next. “Your Grace, Your Majesties, House Manderly has long had the honor of giving its fealty to House Stark. I am honored to be here to welcome its newest member.” 

The entire hall cheered and drank again, and then the desserts caught their eye: fresh fruit provided by Highgarden, cakes, and confections, including a spun sugar direwolf brought to the high table, to grand applause.

Renly turned a peach over in his hands, and for the first time all day something dark had stolen over his face.

“Are you well?” Robb asked.

A smile returned to his face. “Of course.”

Robb had never cared for sweets, but his sisters loved them, and lords and ladies from both North and South seemed overjoyed by it all. Perhaps this entire feast would pass without incident, after all.

Once everyone who wanted to had gotten their hands in the sweets, lord after lord stood and made toast after toast. Robb toasted to thanks from Oberyn Martell that the realm may be at peace now that the evils of the Lannisters had been defeated, to good wishes from Ser Garlan that the autumn harvests may be bountiful and the winter short, to promises from Yohn Royce that the knights of the Vale could be counted on to defend this new alliance. 

Indulging in the sweets, and for once, looking less than royal, as he licked and sucked the sugar from his fingers.

“Should I take the girls upstairs?” his mother asked, and then whispered, “I should if there will be a bedding."

Robb cleared his throat. “We didn’t… discuss that, did we?"

“It’s up to the king,” Renly said.

“Do they have them in the south… when it’s between men?”

“In weddings I’ve been to always have a bedding ceremony, even if there’s no chance of the couple conceiving a child. It’s considered good manners, to wish the couple well in their marriage. Not all couples want that, though…”

 _I do,_ Robb realized. 

“Why did your brother did not come to give you away? Does he not care for the North?” a very drunk Edmure asked Renly.

“My brother is very busy in King’s Landing, and it’s no short journey to Riverrun. He is the king, after all.” 

Robb thought his smile looked strained.

Edmure stood without warning and stomped his foot on the ground. “I would like to make a toast!” He clapped a hand on Renly’s shoulder. “To my nephew and your blushing bride here!”

The joke didn’t land like he was hoping it did. A few of the drunker Northmen laughed, but the rest of the high table didn’t look at him. The Blackfish cursed under his breath.

Edmure looked at Robb for some sympathy. “What? That’s funny – cause he’s in white and…”

Robb glared at his uncle, and to his credit, Edmure did look sorry. “Jon Umber said much worse things!”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

“It’s all right,” Renly said, standing, “but your nephew would have to say something truly shocking to make me blush.”

The great hall laughed, the way that Edmure must have hoped they’d laugh for him. He looked wobbly, and Renly put a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m really very sorry,” Edmure said, and as he gestured his wineglass, it splashed over the rim and spilled down the front of Renly’s doublet like a bloodstain.

Robb held his breath. That doublet looked expensive, and it had probably been made just for this occasion. He saw his new husband look down in dismay, and then make a decision.

“It’s all right,” Renly said. “I don’t need it anymore.” And then unlaced the stained doublet and pulled it over his head. The shirt beneath was made of a linen so thin that Robb could see the flushed color of his chest, the shape of his flat stomach.

“Bed them!” A voice shouted from one of the lower tables, and the words became a roar, taken up but northern and southron guests alike. 

_“Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother quietly escort his sisters from the hall, and before he could look away from them, he had been swept clear off his feet. He didn’t get a clear image of who was carrying him, but a few of the hands felt large and rough, and many, many others, pulling at the laces on his cloaks, were small and soft. Every time he lost a layer, the people following him laughed and cheered all the more. 

They had to put him down to finally get rid of his smallclothes. Someone whistled at the sight of his naked body, and he felt himself blushing from head to toe as they pushed him through the doors of his bedchamber.

 _Perhaps I’m the blushing bride_ , he thought.

Renly arrived seconds later, deposited directly into Robb’s arms. They were both practically shoved towards the large, lavish bed.

“We get it,” Robb said, laughing. “That’s enough.”

One of the ladies who had accompanied Renly, grinning ear-to-ear, was the last to leave, and shut the door as she went, leaving them lying on their marriage bed, completely alone. 

Renly lay back on the pillows and shut his eyes. He looked bigger outside of his clothes. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was smooth. (Robb had heard that some southron men often shaved parts of their bodies that weren’t their face, and when he had tried shaving his chest and beneath his arms when he was seventeen, Theon had laughed at him and said that he looked ridiculous.) A thin line of dark hair ran from his navel to between his legs, and Robb let his eyes linger there. When he looked away, he saw that his new husband was staring at him, seemingly at ease with being studied so closely. 

Renly looked back towards the door, where the small crowd that had followed them still shouted.

“Does it bother you?” Robb asked.

“No. They’re all shouting over each other, so it’s impossible to tell what they are saying.” He grinned. “I can guess, though.”

“I wanted to say something… about that…” Robb looked up at the ceiling, not sure where he was going, or if he could find words for what he wanted to say. “They… liked how you knelt for me and took my cloak…" 

“Yes. And?”

“I don’t want that to… to govern what happens between us, in bed or not.”

“You don’t want to show me the strength of a _real northern man_?" 

“Only if that’s what you want.”

Robb felt fingers running through his curls, and then he turned into the touch and kissed his husband, slow, and he had to admit, a little awkwardly. Renly pulled him closer, and Robb could feel both of them already getting hard. The kiss fell into a rhythm, a give and take, and Robb was surprised to find that he was not in control… and that he liked it. 

The kiss grew deeper, lips wet and open, and when Renly moved his tongue, warmth traveled down Robb’s spine. Robb retained enough reason to wonder what a green boy he would seem if he came from just the press of their bodies. He’s done more than this, after all, far more. He felt the shape of Renly’s cock against his thighs, and he shivered at how big it was.

Renly pulled away, and before Robb could ask him again for what he wanted, he found himself flat on his back. He felt exposed, and panic skittered along his arms and legs. He hadn’t done _that_ before, and all he had meant was that they should talk about things before… 

“Are you all right?” Renly asked. 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not going to fuck you, you know? Not without asking.” His hands framed Robb’s shoulders, and his long hair fell around his face. “No one has to fuck anyone tonight.”

Robb took a deep breath. “Then what do you propose?”

Renly kissed Robb’s stomach and then the head of his cock.

Robb had done this before, and had had it done to him, but whether it was the excitement of the day or his new husband’s skill… _it felt so good_. 

Robb bit his lip, but a tiny whimper still escaped his mouth.

Renly stopped moving, and Robb lifted his head to see why.

“You’re trying not to make noise?”

“Yes,” Robb said. “I’m trying not to.”

Renly tilted his head, as if confused. “We’re married. I understand if all the sex you’ve had before was discreet, but we’re _supposed_ to make noise.” He looked towards the locked door, where several drunken guests still shouted at them. “They want us to.” 

“Think they can even hear us?” 

“I doubt it.”

From the other side of the door, Grey Wind howled, and Renly pulled away.

“He’s just scaring them away! He knows we want privacy,” Robb said. “Thank you!” he shouted to Grey Wind.

Renly stared at the door, every muscle tense. 

“Are you afraid of my direwolf?”

Renly rolled his eyes. “A wolf the size of a man, what’s there to be afraid of?”

“He watches over me and my family,” Robb said. “He protects us.”

“Is he going to watch us _now_?” 

Renly’s voice sounded so worried that laughter bubbled up inside Robb, and he kissed him again.

“No, he won’t.”

“Are you laughing at me?” Renly said, but he was laughing, too.

Robb kissed him again, just because he wanted to.

When Robb let the kiss come to an end, instead of going back to what he had been doing, Renly skated his fingertips up and down the inside of Robb’s thigh.

Robb could easily shove his hand to the side, or move himself away. He didn’t.

"Are you… playing with me?” he said.

A proud grin blossomed on Renly’s face. “Yes.” And then he kissed along the path his fingers had made until he reached his cock again.

Robb had never before heard the sounds he made in bed, so they came out of his mouth garbled, and sounded strange, almost animal to his ears. Renly seemed encouraged by them, moving his tongue in new ways, taking him even deeper, and Robb tangled his fingers in his long hair, not pushing or pulling, just loving the silky way it wrapped around his fingers.

He came with a shout on his lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wedding tourney fit for a king, a mysterious message, and uh...  
> (consults my notes)  
> oh yeah, more sex

Renly shouted as the men on the jousting pitch collided. Lance met shield and splintered, denting the image of a bright red apple. The men, both still ahorse, rode to opposite ends of the pitch to fetch new lances and ride again. 

The entire crowd in attendance at the wedding, and even more people from the lands surrounding Riverrun, had shown up for the tourney. Robb recognized every sigil he saw, but there were tents on the horizon that, even from the height of the royal stands, he could not see. 

Wind caught the banners flying above each knight’s tent, the bright autumn sky above the vibrant trees making the scene stand out in crisp silhouette. In a place like this, the war seemed a distant memory they could all afford to relive, in small part, in this mummer’s show.

The men rode towards each other again, and this time the Fossoway was thrown from his horse and landed in a heap.

“He was a little shaky in the saddle, did you notice that?” Sansa was telling Arya.

Robb hadn’t noticed, but he hadn’t been paying full attention to the competition.

Renly tucked his hair behind one ear and the sunlight caught on his sleeve, bright white silks fashionably slashed to show his gold shirt beneath. He looked dangerously pristine this close to the churning mud below the stands. 

The tourney would last the day, and no longer. King Stannis had made his thoughts perfectly clear on the matter: that all tourneys were a waste of time and money, but also that it would be a terrible indignity for his brother, and by extension the entire royal family, if there were none to celebrate his wedding. 

Robb had not been fond of the idea when they were making plans, but today his men have been in better cheer than since they named him king.

Robb rested his hand on top of his husband’s. Renly’s brow knit for half a second, as if puzzled, but before Robb could think of why, his face was smooth again

“In tourneys in the south,” Robb asked, “do they crown a King of Love and Beauty, or only a Queen?”

“Always a queen.” Renly smiled. “And I would never refuse a crown, but Lady Sansa is the fairest here, anyone can see that.”

Sansa smiled back at them. She was watching the competition, but didn’t cheer the way Robb thought she would. Robb didn’t expect anything from her, or from Arya, not with what they had been through, but one of the reasons he’d agreed to the tourney in the first place was to cheer them up.

Grey Wind sat with the girls, and Sansa had a hand buried in his fur. They both stayed close to him as often as possible; they’d lost their wolves.

“How does this compare to King’s Landing?” Robb asked them.

“The Tourney of the Hand was exciting, but… someone died there. This tourney will be even finer, I’m sure,” Sansa said, “and we’re going home.” She smiled at Grey Wind, a real, warm smile.

Something in Sansa’s eyes flinched every time a man struck the ground. Arya watched impassively, almost like she wasn’t seeing any of it, as she fidgeted with the long sleeves of her gown. 

“Were you there?” Robb asked Renly.

He grinned. “I’m a very poor jouster, and Joffrey’s Hound sent me flying on the first pass.” He laughed. 

“Everyone thought you were dead,” Sansa said, “for a moment, at least. That’s why we cheered so much when you got up.”

“Oh I was fine,” Renly said, “But no one tried to crown me the King of Love and Beauty, unfortunately…”

Renly smiled again, and Robb could not shake the feeling that a jest had been made at his own expense. If men could wed each other in the South, then why was calling a man beautiful and putting flowers in his hair an insult? It was no more a maidenly thing to do than taking another man’s cloak. And he had only been thinking that roses might suit Renly… 

In the end a knight from the Reach took the championship, and Renly led the cheer as the man crowned Sansa the Queen of Love and Beauty. 

She was a woman now, wasn’t she? Robb would have to think about a match for her, as well as for Arya. The thought that he might have to send them away so soon after finding them once again… He shook his head. Ten years from now would be too soon.

*

The melee was the only interesting event in Robb’s eyes – it showed how men might behave on a field of battle, and all the moving parts, made it nearly impossible to see everything.

The crowd gave up a feral roar as the Smalljon Umber knocked two men from their horses at once. Robb cheered with them.

“Your money’s on him?” They were the first words Renly had spoken since the melee began. 

“I’m not betting,” Robb said, “but it would be if I was. Who are you watching?”

“Southron chivalry has won the day so far. I don’t see a good reason it won’t now?”

“I think that’s a good reason.” Robb pointed to where the Smalljon pulled alother man clear off his horse.

“So Southron chivalry against Northern… what? Honor? Lustiness? Brute strength?” His eyes fixed on Robb’s. It was another strike, but one intended for Robb to parry.

“Let’s call it honor,” Robb said.

A flash of light and the sound of steel on steel brought Robb’s attentions back to the melee, and he only vaguely registered the shift of people next to him. The knights from the great houses that had chosen to forego the melee had been invited to sit with the royal couple, and one of them moved closer to them? Robb stole a quick look over his shoulder at a bearded man in green and gold seated behind Renly.

He turned back at a shout from the field and cheered as the Smalljon Umber knocked down knight after knight, and when he finally stood alone in the middle of the field, Robb rose to his feet and cheered even louder.

“Congratulations, Jon Umber!”

“It’s a pleasure to knock men over in the name of our King in the North!”

When Robb presented the Smalljon with his prize, a finely crafted sword from Tobho Mott’s forge, the Northmen in the crowd bellowed and cheered louder than anything Robb had heard that day. 

“They like you, then?” Renly was grinning.

“They put this crown on my head, they have to like me,” Robb said, sitting down next to him again.

He looked around for the man in green and gold, who was now leaving the stands. “Do you know who that was?” Robb asked. The colors suggested House Tyrell, but no one watching was required to wear their house colors.

“Garlan?” Renly said. “Garlan Tyrell?”

“I thought Tyrell,” Robb said, not wanting to appear completely ignorant of the southron gentry.

“He’s a great knight,” Renly said. “He could have had the championship if he jousted, or the melee, even.”

“Tell that to the winner." 

The Smalljon held his prize aloft, crowing over the jewels inlaid on the pommel, and Robb could not tell if it was in admiration or ridicule.

“So Northern honor takes the day?” Renly asked.

“Let’s call it a draw.”

*

They feasted again that night, and the celebration suited Robb better this time around. He felt warm, loose-limbed, and so much more at peace than he had the day before. His family seemed happier, too. Arya and Sansa had ended up talking about archery, of all things, northmen and southron lords alike laughed together over the feast, and his husband charmed the crowd even more than the night before. Specifically, he was charming the tourney champions, who had all been offered seats at the high table. Rowan Stone, the bastard-born hedgeknight who had claimed the prize at archery, had been ill at ease sitting alongside royalty, but the wine and Renly’s conversation had put a flush on his cheeks. Robb wondered if he ought to be jealous.

“Perhaps none of us would have won if you’d competed, Your Highness,” he said when the fish was served. 

Renly laughed out loud. “I spared myself great indignity by staying in the stands.”

The Smalljon grinned and speared a piece of fish with his fork. “I thought you were Robert Baratheon’s brother?”

“I didn’t inherit all of his greatness, I’m afraid.”

“Your brother was a fine warrior, Your Highness,” Martin Mullendore, the winner of the joust with a brief bow of his head. “Was he a great jouster as well?”

“He could joust but he wasn’t known for it,” Renly said. “He loved a good melee, though. He won at his wedding tourney.” He smiled and shook his head. “I was so impressed when I was a child, but now I suspect the rest of them had to let him win. Can’t have the king lose at his own wedding.” His gaze drifted over the rest of the hall.

From Robb’s other side, the Greatjon snorted. “Your brother was a great man. He would never have fought an unfair fight, even at a tourney. He’s missed in the North.”

“I’m sure he is,” Renly said.

When Robb had finished his fish and reached for more, he noticed that Renly’s eyes looked blankly down at his plate. Robb touched his sleeve, the fabric smooth and cool on his callused fingers. 

“Are you well?”

Renly looked up smiling. “It’s amazing how exhausting it is to watch a tourney.” He picked up his glass of wine. “Would you have rathered I had insisted on competing?” 

“I wasn’t expecting anything like that,” Robb said. He recalled King Robert, the loud, red-faced man he’d met at Winterfell a lifetime ago. Renly seemed nothing like him at all. “And I don’t know why people say you’re so much like either of your brothers, though I only met Robert once.”

“That was in his old age. Everyone says I look like him in his prime. So you may end up married to fat, bald man in a few years.”

 _Wasn’t Robert father’s age?_ Robb wrinkled his brow. _That isn’t old, is it?_

Someone from one of the lower tables called up to Renly.

“Is it all right if I join them for a moment?” he asked, already half out of his chair.

“It’s our wedding,” Robb said. “We can do what we like.”

His husband’s tunic moved in the air as he walked across the hall and Robb followed the silhouette of broad shoulders and narrow waist with his eyes. They were married, weren’t they? There was nothing wrong with staring.

“He could be worse,” the Greatjon said, gesturing towards where Renly stood with his dinner knife. “I expected he’d turn out a stuffy southron lord like his brother.”

Robb frowned. “Robert was known for befriending everyone he met.”

“Like _Stannis_. He’s got a stick so far up his arse I’m surprised he can sit that ugly throne.” 

Arya burst out laughing. Robb turned around and saw that both of his sisters had covered their mouths with their hands.

His mother sighed. “Arya, please.” 

“Let her be, mother, she didn’t make the joke,” Robb said, inwardly more relieved than he could name that his sisters were laughing this much again.

When the dessert was served, Renly returned to the high table, snatched up a berry tart and squeezed Robb’s hand. “I’ll be back in moment,” he said and slipped out of the hall.

Robb wondered for a second if he should go after him, but then Arya began telling a story about her travels through the Riverlands, and Robb forgot about everything else that was not his family, broken apart, mending again, and finally, finally laughing. 

After the trays of fruit and sweets had been picked clean, Renly still hadn’t come back. Robb wondered if he had said something wrong. They had spoken about Robert, perhaps too much, but wouldn’t Renly want to be reminded of how much his brother was loved?

“Grey Wind,” Robb said, and his wolf sat at attention before him. “Go find Renly." 

Grey Wind set off at a trot, and Robb followed. They wound through Riverrun until they saw him standing alone in a deserted corridor, looking down a small piece of paper by the light of a torch. Robb stayed still and quiet, feeling like he was intruding, but too curious not to. 

After a moment, Renly held the paper up to the torch. He watched as it burned, the orange light from both fires glowing on his face. The flame in his hand grew and grew. 

And he popped his fingers in his mouth as a scrap of charred paper fell to the ground. He fished it up with his other hand and threw it back at the torch, then yelled and jumped back when sparks flew. 

Robb cleared his throat.

Renly’s eyes widened at the sight of him, fingers still in his mouth.

Robb was unable to keep a smile from his face. “What did you do?” 

“I think I hurt myself,” Renly said.

Grey Wind walked up to Renly and nuzzled his other hand.

“He likes you,” Robb said.

“Obviously. He hasn’t eaten me yet.”

“He led me here. You were gone for a while.”

“I abandoned you, didn’t I?” Renly said. He stood very still, but let Grey Wind sniff at his hands. “I’m sorry I missed dessert.”

“Didn’t you grab a tart before you left?”

Renly rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I missed _most_ of dessert.” His body had gone tense when Grey Wind approached, and it stayed that way.

“Are you still afraid of him?”

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Renly said, “but I’ve heard stories, you know?"

“What stories?”

“That he devoured men in battle, tore out the throats of your enemies.”

Robb looked down at Grey Wind, who sat at Renly’s feet like looking for all the world like the tamest of hounds. “That’s not completely false,” he said.

One corner of Renly’s mouth quirked up. “They weren’t just stories about your wolf; they were more about you. A wild Northern warlord who rode a monster into battle and knew no mercy.” 

Robb’s heard the stories too, he just had not counted on them sticking around; he couldn’t shed this reputation like so much clothes. 

Robb leaned against the wall.“Was I…” he hesitated. The question in his mind sounded the musing of a lovestruck maid, so he squared his shoulders and found new words. “When we met at the summit, was I what you were expecting?”

“No.”

“No?” 

“But I’m not sure what I was expecting. You’re a boy king who sent Tywin running with his tail between his legs. I knew the tales were exaggerated, but I never knew how much.” 

They stood for a moment in silence.

“What was that about?” Robb asked. “The paper?”

“Something we don’t need to worry about anymore,” Renly said, but he looked sad when he said it.

Robb wanted to comfort him, to rub small circles on his back, but then Renly might think it came from pity and nothing else. Robb reminded himself that they had known each other only a day. 

“We’ve been gone from the feast for awhile now,” he said.

“They must think we’re unable to stay away from your bedchamber.”

Robb shrugged. “Well if they already think so…”

Renly laughed.

“What’s so funny? Are you laughing at me?”

“You mean here in the hallway?”

“Why not?” Robb hated the idea of Renly calling his bluff. And besides, he was a king. He couldn’t do anything he liked, but he had a feeling he could do this.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Renly’s mouth, and it looked more genuine than any of the laughter he’d had for the crowd in the great hall. “I don’t see a reason.” 

Renly’s mouth was warm and soft on Robb’s cheek. Robb kissed him properly, though it felt more comforting than rousing. He pressed himself closer, touching silk and the warm skin beneath it. They could stay out here as long as they liked; Grey Wind would likely scare off anyone who might bother them.

One of Renly’s hands cradled the back of his head and deepened the kiss. When the other ran down Robb’s back, Robb pull him close, so close that one of Renly’s thighs was pressed between his legs, and then he didn’t care who might walk by.

*

Robb thought that perhaps a royal apology was owed to those lords, ladies, and innkeepers whose hospitality they accepted on their way North. 

“Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people have slept in these beds before,” said Renly, half draped in a sheet in the inn’s finest bedroom, “and many of them have done far dirtier things.”

Perhaps that was true the first time Renly had said it, but they did all sorts of things on their journey North. Robb had come with his cock thrust between his husband’s thighs, had taken him in his mouth, had discovered new places where the single touch of a finger made him come undone. And it just kept getting better. _I guess, like all things, it comes with practice,_ Robb had thought as Renly pressed his thumb just behind his cock and he’d almost cried out. 

The first time Robb took him, Renly had to assure him he wanted it, and Robb had to assure himself that he’d done it before and wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.

“Have you not felt married all this time?” Renly teased, running a finger up the side of Robb’s arm. “I’ve been holding out on you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Robb said, shivering from the touch. “What matters is if you want to.” 

“And I do. Are you going to make me beg?” 

They came with Renly’s legs wrapped tight around Robb’s waist, rocking together more than thrusting, Robb’s hand moving on his husband’s cock. Robb’s peak came more intensely than it ever had before, and after he was so spent that he fell asleep with his head on Renly’s chest.

Every morning after, Robb would bid good day to the lord, lady, or proprietor of the place where they stayed, and Renly always seems to be doing something unnecessary with his mouth: biting his lip, licking the edge of whatever glass he was drinking from, as if trying to make him flush.

“Does it get much colder than this?” Renly fell back against the bed, hands over his face.

“You think this is cold?” Robb pulled off his shirt and reached for the laces on his breeches. It had become brisker the farther they’d gone North, and he was grateful for the fire in the grate, but _cold_ was something else entirely.

“Yes, I do.” 

“We can let the fire warm us first,” Robb said. He spread out on their finely appointed bed and looked over at his husband, who was still wrapped in green velvet and furs beneath his cloak.

“How cold does it get at Winterfell?” Renly asked.

Robb realized that, despite how much Renly talked, before, after, and during their nights together, Robb still knew shockingly little about him. They had put their mouths on every inch of each other’s bodies, and they were still talking about the weather. 

“I honestly don’t know,” Robb said. “I don’t remember the last winter. I think the North is beautiful in summer, but it still snows. What’s winter like at Storm’s End?”

Renly turned to face him. “It’s wind, rain, thunder, sometimes the rain is so bitter cold it seeps into your bones, but it’s not a sudden kind of cold, it doesn’t hurt as soon as you step into it. You can survive it for a while.” His eyes drifted down Robb’s chest.

“Are you staring at me?”

“It’s a nice view.”

Grinning, Robb pulled him into a deep kiss. They rolled across the bed, and Robb ended up on top.

“Feeling warm now?”

Renly unhooked his cloak. “I could get warmer.” His hands stroked down Robb’s spine. “You’re warm. Maybe you could put it in me?”

Robb’s cock stirred. “We don’t have to.”

Renly tilted his head to one side. “You think I don’t enjoy it?”

“You’re not just doing it to please me?” Robb asked. “Because you shouldn’t be.”

Renly met his eyes. “I don’t like you that much. And I do actually enjoy it. Don’t you?”

It was uncomfortable to think about Theon, but Robb had been hoping just minutes before that they might talk about their actual lives… So he was honest.

“It hurt, not too much, but it hurt. I was doing it because I cared about the other person, because he liked it. We only did it a couple of times.”

Robb wasn’t being completely honest, though. It had hurt, and Theon didn’t seem to understand how to take anything slow, but it had also felt overwhelming in a way he didn’t want to let himself get used to. 

“It should feel good.” Renly pulled Robb’s hips flush against his own, so that Robb was straddling him. “You take things slow, and if there’s ever a time when it’s too much, you stop. And you don’t have to be in control, and that’s nice. But it’s a matter of taste. Some people never like it, and that’s fine.”

“But you do?” 

“Yes.”

“Do you prefer it?”

“It depends. You’re my husband, and you’re good at it, which makes things easier.”

Robb became aware of the shape of Renly’s cock through the layers of fabric between them. His husband lay flat on his back, but he looked up at Robb with an almost commanding gaze, like he was the one in control.

“Thank you,” Robb said. “It’s good to know I’m good.”

He should move. Take off Renly’s doublet, kiss him, or anything to take back control of the situation, but it felt good to stay right where he was. Carried away by his own curiosity and the charmed atmosphere that seemed to be following them North, Robb squared his shoulders.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me. If this is something I’m expecting from you, I should know more of what it’s like.”

Renly’s lips moved in a wicked smile.

“Just this once,” Robb said firmly.

The smile grew. “Of course.”

*

Settling in his saddle the next morning, Robb shifted uncomfortably and blinked slowly. One of the finest castles they’d stayed in, and he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. 

Taking things slowly had indeed been the key, and when Renly explained some of his strategy, even though Robb felt himself flush a terrible red, it had put him at ease. Renly had been patient, watching his reactions eagerly, and had let Robb on top so that he could set the pace.

Robb had liked it. He had more than liked it.

He wondered, through the haze that still clung to his mind, what was different now from years ago with Theon. He had trusted Theon, and Theon had know what he was doing… hadn’t he? 

He caught his husband smirking over at him as they kicked their horses into a walk. 

“What? What are you looking at?” he said.

Renly gave him a look of pure, wide-eyed innocence. “I didn’t say anything." 

“I’m not talking to you today.”

“Suit yourself,” he said and he kicked his horse into a canter.

Robb couldn’t help but grin. He felt good. As long as he wasn’t expected to ride any faster.

*

Robb spent the ride that day talking with his mother and Sansa, both content to keep their horses at a walk. Arya rode ahead, followed by Dacey Mormont, who’d done a good job of keeping an eye on her without making her feel watched all the time. Or so Arya had said.

By the time Robb reached the inn where they had stopped to eat, Renly and his guard were already gone from sight.

“They’re in one of the upstairs rooms,” Dacey said.

As Robb went up the stairs, he heard laughter and conversation from behind one of the doors. 

Beneath the noise, he heard Renly's voice. “We don’t talk. We mostly fuck.”

“Who’s doing the fucking?”

“Last night he let me,” Renly said. “And he liked it.” Robb could hear the pride in his voice, and something else as well, something sharper, meaner…

Robb shifted his weight carefully, moving a tiny bit closer to the door.

The idea of being discussed like this to people he didn’t know was uncomfortable, but there was something else about it, maybe the tone of Renly’s voice or the word _fuck_. He heard voices again; he’d been thinking too loud and missed more of the conversation.

“Gods, do you think this is what I wanted, Guy?” Renly was saying.

“You’re fucking a king. What could be better?” said a different voice. 

“I could be in King’s Landing fucking whoever I wanted, not headed to some freezing wasteland. Dropped off like...” and then Renly's voice disappeared into the din.

Robb cleared his throat and knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Renly called out, and when Robb opened the door, he greeted him with a pleasant smile on his face. A few members of his personal guard were scattered around the room, perched on the chairs, the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall. At the center of the room was a table with bread, cheese, and a flagon of wine. “Your Majesty, come join us."

Robb blinked. After what he’d just heard, he was hoping he’d catch Renly feeling shame, or at least surprise. He looked around at the other faces in the room. None of them let on that they were talking about anything that Robb should not hear. 

“I think we’re past titles, aren’t we, husband?” he said.

“I suppose we are.” Renly stood up. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“Yes,” Robb said, “I was just coming to find you.”

They walked halfway down the stairs of the inn, when Robb stopped and caught Renly’s sleeve. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’d tell me, wouldn't you? If something was wrong?” 

“Of course I would, Robb,” Renly said, but something about it sounded… dishonest? Too careful? Like Renly didn’t like even speaking his name? 

Robb nodded. “Good. And I’d prefer if our private life remained private,” he said. 

“I understand.” Renly rolled his eyes, as if at himself. “I got carried away.”

Robb looked down and saw that he was still gripping the fabric of Renly’s tunic. This one was orange and red. His clothes were looking increasingly out of place the farther North they went. 

He touched Robb’s shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”

Robb let go, and Renly continued down the stairs to greet his mother... as though nothing had happened. Robb watched them talking, and thought that probably he wasn't unhappy - he was saying things he shouldn't have been, but that didn't mean anything, did it? _He has to be happy,_ Robb thought to himself as he joined the group gathering about the tables. _He’s smiling, isn’t he?_


End file.
